


Dissimulation of Hermione Black

by Lilbit903



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ancient Rituals, Attempted Murder, F/M, Schizophrenia symptoms, Time Bending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-08 11:51:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12863943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilbit903/pseuds/Lilbit903
Summary: Hermione Granger is given an impossible task after the war with Voldemort. Using any possible resources available to her, she's to prevent Lord Voldemort from ever rising. Using an ancient Ritual she proceeds to rewrite history, using the daughter of Phineas Black and Alyssandra Travers. Planning the Dark Lord's demise is never easy though, especially not when her alternate persona begins to fall in love with the charming Tom Riddle and his promises to explore the world. Struggling to decipher which Hermione she truly is, she must hasten to eradicate the Dark Lord before he ever comes to be.***Runner up for Lost In Time: Best Time-Turner for Tomione Fest 2017***Joint Runner up for Where Dwell the Brave: Favorite Hermione for Tomione Fest 2017





	1. Hermione Estrella Black

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> He thought she was Hermione Black, pureblood, Slytherin.
> 
> It took quite some time before he realized that she planned to kill him.

_ The first time he set his eyes on her he couldn't help but to think, she'll be the death of me. If only he knew just how true that was.  _

Hermione Estrella Black was the epitome of Pure-blood grace and royalty. Men doted upon her, eagerly fulfilling her every whim while she looked on bored by their eagerness. Their desperation. It reeked off of them like the too expensive cologne that clogged her throat and made her eyes burn. Their sharp smiles reminding her at every turn that she was simply a trophy to them. One to be fought over, then placed on a shelf to be admired while they spent their days running their businesses. Smoking their cigars and sipping their whiskey. 

The women were no better. All of them prattling on about the Season's balls, and who was going to propose to whom, and the latest scandal in pureblood society. All of them air brained fools only concerned with finding a husband to care for them. One that had house elves to care for the children they would bear, while they hosted their tea parties and luncheons and balls. None of it entertained her in the slightest. She would much rather live out her days as a spinster like her elder cousin Cassie, than to turn into one of these ingrates. 

Worthless, the lot of them. Oh, there were the slight few that rose above the rest. Like Evangeline Shafiq, the dark skinned beauty finding her place among the researchers of Ancient Runes. Or Amelia Fawley, who spent her days with dangerous beasts, seeking to re-establish their numbers. Even Evan Rosier was better than the droll men who surrounded them. He at least had a promising career in Quidditch, therefore he believed that a wife was irrelevant to his goals at the time. 

So Hermione was intrigued when said Rosier introduced her to one Tom Marvolo Riddle with such a reverent tone. The man was beautiful, of that there was no doubt. With full sensuous lips, high cheek bones, a jawline for days, and icy blue eyes. Women flocked around him, and while he was polite, he showed no real interest in them. Brushing them off politely one by one, smirking as they walked away dejectedly. It was a game to him. One she was all too familiar with. One she played herself with the fools that surrounded her. 

Warning bells sounded inside her mind when he flashed her a confident smile, bending low to brush a kiss along the back of her hand, with a murmured "Pleasure."

She excelled at the game, but she had the sinking feeling he was better. 

 

It was the beginning of the Season, and her mother was having yet another fit. The woman could rant for hours, about how ungrateful and disappointing Hermione was. How as a nearly eighteen year old witch, she should already be married, with at least one child on the way. Her father would always bring her mother to heel, though. As his only daughter and child, he doted upon her. She was not the last of the Black's. There was of course Orion, Alphard and Cygnus, as well Lucretia and Walburga. 

Yes, Phineas doted upon Hermione like the princess he saw her as. He had married his wife Alessandra Travers, as a final attempt to re-establish his place among his family. Oh, he still supported muggle rights, but now he did so quietly. Placing funds where they needed to go when muggles were attacked in muggle-baiting, applying the right kind of pressure to ensure laws to protect muggles went through, and instilling in his only daughter that muggles and muggle-born were not inferior. 

Hermione had took his lessons to heart. She treated everyone equally, when she was able. Which as the only daughter of a minor line happened to be quite frequently. She was a Slytherin through and through, though. Just as she would hold her hand out to help someone up, she would use that same hand to slit their throat if they crossed her. Everyone commented on how the rumored Black Madness had spared her, and seemed to burrow itself into her cousin Walburga, but they didn't know the truth. 

They didn't know about the dreams of another life. One where she was an outcast, fighting in a war she was far too young for. Alongside a messy raven haired boy, and another lanky red headed boy. They didn't know about the man, no monster, named Lord Voldemort, who killed children and women and men, pure-blooded or not.  They didn't know about the mad cackles of a crazed haired wide eyed woman who inflicted the worst possible pain imaginable. They didn't have to see faces of dead friends they would never know float across their mind at night, chasing sleep from their addled minds. 

They didn't know, that perhaps, she was the maddest Black of them all. 

 

Her train of thought was broken by her mother's shrill voice, "Honestly Hermione! You're nearly eighteen, and you have no prospects to speak of! I can hardly bare to show my face at the Ladies Luncheons."

Hermione let out an indelicate snort, "I have plenty of prospects, Mother. However, seeing as how they all bore me to tears, I've turned them all away."

Alessandra's eyes widened in fury as she spluttered in anger, "You WHAT? How could you Hermione? Why must you break your poor mother's heart? Oh Phineas!" 

Hermione sighed, wishing she could get away with casting a silencing spell on her mother. The woman was far too dramatic. How they shared blood was a mystery to her. 

Phineas' easy chuckle could be heard from behind his morning paper, and Hermione envied his easy-going nature. He was still just as cutthroat and vengeful as all the other Black's, but there was a certain peace he carried. As if he knew exactly who and what he was, and he was comfortable with that. Hermione hoped that one day, she too would have that peace about her. Living with her mother though, made it seem an impossibility. 

"Leave the girl alone, Ali. She'll find a husband when she's good and ready." A flick of his wrists to straighten his paper, as if to say the conversation was done. 

"And if she doesn't? It's bad enough Cassiopeia is in her potion's lab all day, and we won't speak of poor Marius, Dorea married that Potter boy, and your brother Arcturus has had nothing but daughters. Not to mention Lycoris and Regulus are more interested in chasing dragons, the bloody fools. That leaves only Sirius' son Arcturus and Cygnus' son Pollux's children, and Hermione." Alessandra huffed out, arms crossing across her chest defensively. 

Hermione for her part sat in her chair, mimicking her mother's speech. One she had heard at least once a week since she came home at seventeen without a husband. Why did she need a husband anyway? She was honestly much too young for one. She would rather travel, and explore the world. Or help her cousin Cassie in the potion's lab. Or stick needles in her eyes. Anything other than getting married to one of the droll men who surrounded her at every soiree. 

"Hermione cannot pass on the Black name. Unless of course you want me to beg for Alphard to be reinstated into the family, so that he can marry her?" Phineas growled, placing his paper down on the table. 

Alessandra let out a sharp gasp, appalled. "Of course not, Phineas! But-"

"But nothing woman! I am the man of this house, and if I say Hermione doesn't have to marry, then she doesn't have to marry." Spittle flew from his lips as he glared at his wife. He cared for her deeply, but Hermione was his whole world. And he could see that Alessandra's harping was upsetting his daughter. And he had vowed on the day she was born that no one would get away with harming her. 

Hermione placed a gentle hand on her father's forearm, "It's alright Father. Mother only wants what she thinks is best for me. It's not her fault that society has told her that it's for me to get married and have children. Isn't that right, Mother?" 

Alessandra's lip trembled, and she nodded. Truly all she wanted was for her daughter to find a man to care for here, a man to spoil her the way Phineas did. 

Phineas let out a shallow breath, "I'm sorry loves, I didn't mean to raise my voice at you. Forgive me Ali?" 

And just like that, all was right in their world again. 

                                                                                               ~OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO~  
  


"Oh, isn't he handsome, Hermione?" Asked an excited Walburga. Her sharp nails digging in to her arm as she sent coy looks to Tom Riddle. Hermione made a noncommittal noise. He was indeed very handsome, and from what she had been told, incredibly smart. They had attended Hogwarts together, however they stayed outside of each other's social circles. Tom spending his time with Abraxas Malfoy, Evan Rosier, Thaddeus Carrow, and a few other pure-blood boys. Hermione saw through their simpering smiles and polite behaviors; they were sharks. All of them just as eager to tear and rip and destroy as the next. 

Tom however, seemed to have a certain elegance about him. As if while he tore you to shreds, he'd have you begging for more. A certain danger surrounded him, and yet it did nothing to fend off his many admirers. 

Hermione remembered something from her dreams, about how Tom Riddle had risen as a creature named Lord Voldemort. How he had caused death and destruction and anguish wherever he roamed. Shaking the thought from her mind she returned her attention to her cousin. 

"I thought you were set on marrying Orion?" Hermione remarked, taking a sip from her champagne glass. Wrinkling her nose as the bubbles tickled it. 

Walburga sent her a mild glare, "Of course I am. I won't sully myself with anything less than the Black bloodline. However, I can still appreciate a handsome man." 

Hermione smiled at her cousin. Walburga may be mad, but she was family. And who's to say she wasn't a little mad too?

Opening her mouth to respond, she was surprised to hear a smooth voice beside her instead, "May I have this dance, Miss Hermione?" 

Turning to face the man who had interrupted her, she was surprised to see Tom standing there. Raising her brow impertinently, she nodded slightly, placing one of her gloved hands in his. Truthfully, she could have denied him this dance. After all he was a mere half-blood. Oh sure, he was the last of the Gaunt bloodline, but they were better off extinct anyways. The poor sods were even madder than her family, and she dreaded to think of what could happen if the two bloodlines crossed. 

They swept into a classic waltz, neither speaking, simply staring into each other's eyes as they swooped across the dance floor together. Hermione had enough tact to let him lead, knowing that even if he danced horribly, she had years of lessons. So she was surprised when she noticed he danced as if he had been born to it. She was even more surprised by the voice screaming inside her head. Don't trust him! Don't trust him! Don't. Trust. Him.

When the dance finally ended, she gave a polite curtsy and made her way back to Walburga, who was now joined by Orion. Who, while several years younger, towered over them both. His dark hair and grey eyes watched Tom suspiciously. Hermione was his favorite cousin, after all, she would protect him from anyone, even his father. He'd never forget the day she walked in on Arcturus kicking him as he laid curled in the fetal position. Hermione's family magic had roared in displeasure, and with the simple flick of her wrist she had Arcturus pinned against the wall. Her magic had left him there for days, until the bruises on Orion's face and torso had healed. 

When he had finally been released, he made straight for Hermione, only to be met with her wand and that of her Father's. Phineas had read Arcturus the riot act, and swore that if he ever discovered him lying another harmful hand on his nephew or niece, that he'd gut him. Arcturus must have seen something in his Uncle's eyes, because after that day, he hardly spoke to his children. 

So naturally, Orion was just as protective. He had heard things about Tom Riddle. About how he would take girls to his rooms, and they would leave with bruises and no recollection of what had happened to them. About how he was fond of throwing out unforgivables like they were merely household charms. Orion had heard it all, and he would not allow Tom Riddle to harm his cousin. 

"Seems you have yet another admirer, Cousin." Orion remarked caustically, eyes boring daggers into the older man as he made his way to his Uncle Phineas. His eyes narrowed in displeasure as they moved to a darkened corner to speak in hushed tones. 

"One of many, that will never see anything come of their admiration." Hermione replied, sending a smile full of teeth his way. A warning. 

Orion sighed, and nodded, the message clear. Hermione Black was capable of fighting her own battles, and his interference was not appreciated. Chancing a glance at Walburga he left out a small sigh of disappointment. Walburga was beautiful, but she was mad beyond reason, and if given the choice between her and Hermione. Well, he'd choose Hermione every time. 

"May I have this dance, Walburga?" He asked quietly. At her eager smile, and Hermione's reassuring one, he felt his heart sink a little lower in his chest. 

 

Tom Riddle was feeling rather bemused. For the past several weeks, his mind had been occupied with thoughts of Hermione Black. The girl was beautiful, that anyone could see, but she was also cold and callous. She carried herself as if she were a queen, and yet she would mingle with the peasants. He remembered her in school, incredibly intelligent and seemingly always bored. She took to magic and learning as if it were as easy as breathing. She had always been unfailingly polite to him, and yet she never fawned over him the way other girls did. Perhaps he would have taken it as an insult if she had spent her attentions elsewhere, but Hermione never fawned over anyone. So when he saw her at the graduation ball, he had asked that one of his Knights introduce them. He ignored the moment of hesitation in Rosier's eyes, and smiled politely as if the waiting didn't bother him. 

He had felt a sense of satisfaction at her sudden blush. As if he were to be the one to thaw the ice queen. But then she was back to her normal coolness. Her eyes watched him appraisingly, lips barely curled into a smile. It infuriated him. How easily she could dismiss him. As if she was anymore important than he was. So after their brief introduction, he began to quietly ask around. Why wasn't Hermione Black married yet? Did she have any suitors? Did she have some sort of disease no one was aware of? 

The responses he got were often stilted, and disjointed. Apparently, Hermione had upset quite a few scions over the years. As far as anyone knew she was a sane as the Black's came, was in incredible health and showed no interest in suitor's of any kind. Rumor has it that she refused to marry, because she'd much rather explore the world. And so, a plan began to form in Tom Riddle's mind. An obsessive plan to make the insufferable witch his. He would need to proceed carefully, for this was the highest stakes he had ever played for. Imagine if he were able to gain her hand in marriage, the amount of respect and reverie it would bring. Oh he already had their reverence, but to take the ice queen, and make her his Lady? Well, no man would ever doubt his powers of persuasion again. 

So at the Season's first ball he had managed to dance with her. The brief touches set his skin alight, and his groin to stir. She had smelt of honey and cinnamon, as well as a floral scent he couldn't quite place. Her womanly curves were showed off modestly in the expensive ball gown she wore. The feel of velvet under his hands, made him wonder which would be softer, her dress or her skin? Once the dance had finished he had made his way to her father. Phineas Black was an imposing man, easily in his late sixties, with graying salt and pepper hair, and cool mercurial eyes that matched his daughter's. Approaching the man for a brief word made a tendril of something curl in his stomach. He wouldn't dare admit it was anticipation or nervousness. He was the heir to  Salazar Slytherin, and such feelings were below him. 

"Mr. Black, I'd like to have word with you, concerning your daughter." Tom spoke quietly, lest any nosy busy bodies hear. Phineas raised on eyebrow as if saying 'do you now?', but motioned Tom over to one of the darker corners of the room. Turning on his heel, Phineas regarded the young man before him. Merope Gaunt's only son was devastatingly handsome, a blessing considering the turn the whole family had taken in the later years. No one knew who the boy's father was, but seeing that Riddle was not a wizarding name, many speculated a muggle father. It was of no concern to Phineas who the boy's father was. After all  _ he _ wasn't asking about his Princess. 

"What might I do for you Mr. Riddle?" Phineas inquired, eyes fixed on the wizard before him. 

Tom swallowed, and straightened himself further, "I'd like permission to formally court your daughter, sir."  Tom prepared himself for the sting of rejection he hoped didn't come. He hated the feeling of unwantedness that came with it. He was Tom Marvolo Riddle, dammit, and he didn't need anyone's acceptance. It didn't matter anyways, he was set to become the next Dark Lord. After all, he'd already killed three people and tortured nearly a dozen more. He knew more about the Dark Arts than anyone else he knew, he could manipulate anyone to do his bidding, and his power was rivaled only by the likes of Dumbledore and Grindelwald. If he were perhaps very lucky, those two would kill each other, and he would be free to step into his role as the Dark Lord formally. 

Phineas' booming laughter was the last thing he expected to hear. Frowning he stared at the man as he clamped a hand on his shoulder. 

"Does Hermione know you're asking me this?" Phineas chortled. 

Tom's frown deepened, "No, sir." He answered slowly, utterly confused. What did it matter if she knew he was interested in courting her or not? She was a daughter of an Ancient and Noble House and she would do as her father bid her. 

"You've a lot to learn about her, boy. I'll make you a deal. If you can convince her to ask me to allow you to court her. I'll grant you my full blessing." Phineas smiled, teeth glinting in the dark shadows where they stood. 

Something told Tom that getting Hermione to agree to a formal courtship with him would be easier said than done. 

 

They were at yet another gathering, and Tom had made his way to the edges of the dancefloor. He brushed off the vapid girls that surrounded him like they were merely annoying pieces of lint that clung to him. He only had eyes for one witch, and she stood surrounded by her cousin's Walburga and Lucretia, as well as one of the Shafiq girls. he could see how the other girl's tittered around her, while Hermione looked bored by whatever they were saying. He could tell that she was making the appropriate noises and movements though, based on the happy smiles on the others faces. Taking a slow sip of his champagne he made his way around the floor, never taking his eyes off of her. 

Clearing his throat as he approached, he smiled charmingly at the other women, before settling on Hermione once again. 

"Miss Black, would you do me the honor of dancing with me, again?" He kept his voice soft, and stared directly into her eyes. 

The blush was back and he felt a surge of pride that he had been the one to cause it. She placed her hand gently into his own, and he marvelled at how small it was compared to his. Lifting her hand he lead her into a Waltz seamlessly, twirling her away from the now giggling trio. 

He smiled down at her, surprised when she breathed out a deep sigh. Raising his eyebrow in question, he felt a smirk grace his lips. 

"Thank you. They're all dear girls, but one more comment about marriage and babies and I was going to scream." Hermione huffed. 

Tom's lips quirked, "You don't desire marriage and children? But I thought that was every pureblood girls dream." 

It was really quite lucky that Hermione had revealed such a thing to him. Perhaps he could find out why she was so averse to marriage, and be the one to change her mind. He couldn't care about children either way. After years in Wool's Orphanage, he had come to detest the little blighters. Noisy and sticky and snotty as they were. Though, perhaps wizarding children would be different. 

Hermione rolled her eyes and sniffed delicately, "Perhaps that might be true of the tart's you're used to, but some of us actually have brains we'd like to use."

"Oh?"

Her forehead wrinkled as she took a moment to assess him. Was he truly interested or was it merely a ploy? Seeing no obvious signs of deceit she relaxed slightly. Internally telling the voice screaming at her to run or to kill the young wizard in front of her to shut up.

"Yes. For instance, I'd rather like to see the world. Explore the ruins of Alexandria, trek through the Amazon Rainforest, see Stonehenge and the Louvre. " Hermione's eyes shone with excitement as she spoke of her dreams. And Tom felt himself smiling in return, so it seemed that the ice queen wasn't so frozen after all. 

"And why can't you? After all Evangeline Shafiq explores the world all the time in her work. Of course that in itself is rather scandalous, isn't it?" Tom inquired, moving them into a complicated foxtrot, along with the other dancers. 

Hermione fell into step effortlessly and let out an annoyed sigh, "Mother has convinced father that it's far too dangerous for an unwed woman to go gallivanting across the globe without a proper chaperone. And most of the available wizards would rather have a pretty trophy to show off, while they globetrot." 

Tom smiled at Hermione's eagerness to share her frustrations. Undoubtedly non-Slytherin of her, but very useful for him indeed. An idea was solidifying in his mind. He already had desires to travel the world, exploring more of the Dark Arts along the way. Why not take a wife with him? One who was frighteningly intelligent and from a affluent and influential family. One whose family magic was deeply steeped into the Dark Arts itself? 

"That is a conundrum. Have you considered hiring a chaperone?" He queried intently. If she hadn't, he would ensure that no one would willingly travel with her. And if she had, it simply cornered her even more.

"Yes," She ground out bitterly, " Father won't allow it." 

Tom nodded sympathetically at that. Inside, however he was ecstatic.He now had enough information to begin to put his plan into place, but first he would need to ensure he gained Hermione's affections. And looking at the beautiful witch before him, he couldn't say it would be such a hardship.

 

Hermione awoke drenched in sweat, with tears pouring from her eyes. Another of those terrible dreams. Blood had flowed in rivulets down the stairs of Hogwarts. Echoes of screams surrounded her, as she was running. Running, but the walls were closing in on her, and a faceless man was gaining quickly. His skin was bone white, with terrifying red eyes, and two slits for a nose. His long spindly fingers had just managed to grab her robe, when she woke up to the sounds of her own screams. 

He was a monster, this Lord Voldemort, one that was seemingly determined to haunt her dreams. Frowning, she took a moment to breathe deeply, calming her racing heart. He was not in her dreams every night. On some nights it was the wild-haired witch who looked so much like her, it was eery. She would carve into her flesh with a bone handled knife, before using her wand to cast crucio after crucio upon her. Hermione had never felt the curse herself, but the phantom pains that would run through her body after that made sure she had an idea of what it would feel like. 

Closing her eyes, she ignored the voice in her mind telling her that there was a connection between this Lord Voldemort and Tom Riddle. It was a preposterous thought. The Black Madness afflicting her once again. Calling softly for her elf, she requested a vial of Dreamless Sleep Potion, knowing there was no other way she would be getting rest tonight. 

 

When Hermione awoke again she felt rested for the first time in weeks. Glancing at the clock that adorned her wall, she let out a startled gasp. She had missed breakfast, and if she didn't hurry, she would miss lunch as well. Scrambling through her routine, she was able to make it to the dining table with a few moments to spare. Her father glanced at her worriedly over his cup of tea, and Hermione sent him a small smile. She knew her silencing spells were strong enough to contain her nightmares, but he would surely noticed the vial of Dreamless Sleep missing from his stores. 

"Hello Father." She greeted politely, crossing her fingers that he would let the subject drop for now. 

Phineas sighed, but greeted his daughter warmly, "Hello, princess." 

Smiling brightly at her father's pet name for her, Hermione turned her attention to the spread of food before her. Grabbing a blueberry scone, she waited for her father to finish taking a drink of tea. A question had been burning on her mind since the night she first danced with Tom, and now without her mother's chittering, she felt comfortable enough to ask him. 

"Father, what is your opinion of Tom Riddle?" She held her breath. She rarely asked questions about the wizards she met, and desperately hoped he didn't set about drawing up a marriage contract for them. She didn't think he would, but he would inform her mother, who would pressure him to do so. 

Phineas eyed his daughter for a moment, "From what I know, he's incredibly intelligent. Charming, and a favorite student of Professor Slughorn. His mother was Merope Gaunt, and there's speculation about his father. Why do you ask?" 

Hermione took a delicate bite of her scone, thinking carefully as she chewed and swallowed, "Because he's unlike any other wizard I've ever met. He seems to be interested in me, and as a person, not just as some trophy."

Phineas smiled smugly at his daughter, he had always told her that one day a man would come along and gain her interest. 

"He asked my permission to formally court you." It was the wrong thing to say. Hermione's features turned into a scowl and she stabbed the bit of salad before her viciously. Phineas sighed, and felt the inane urge to pull his hair out by it's roots. He loved his daughter. He loved her fierce spirit and her unwillingness to be cowed, he loved her stubbornness for all the grief it gave him. But he wanted her to be happy. He knew she would never be happy in some manor hosting balls and tea parties while elves raised her children. No, his daughter wanted to explore the world and all it's secrets. 

"And I suppose you gave him your approval then?" Hermione huffed in annoyance, ignoring the pang of hurt that seemed to be growing in her chest.

"No." Phineas shifted enough to place his hand on her arm, "I told him, that he would have my blessing if, and only if, you came to me asking for him to be the one to court you formally."

Hermione glanced up at her father in surprise. Tears welled in her eyes, and she cursed her emotional hormones. 

"You're giving me a choice? You're giving me  _ the _ choice?" Her voice was tight as she fought back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. It was more than any witch could hope for. Most were arranged to be wed while they were still in the cradle, and for her Father to willingly allow her to decide who she wished to marry; it was one of the best ways he could show his love for her. 

Phineas pulled Hermione towards him, and she went willingly, leaving her chair to be pulled into her father's embrace. Tears fell freely from her eyes as he shushed her. Her hands clenched in the fabric of his robes, and she fought back the sobs that threatened to overcome her. Phineas held her close to his chest as he stroked her hair soothingly. Oh his darling girl. Placing his cheek against the top of her head he whispered, 

"Oh, my sweet princess. You have always had the choice." 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure this will be as long as I intended, I planned for five chapters, but it may be less due to time constraints. We shall see. This was Alpha'd by the lovely VinoAmore, thank you so much. I'm beyond pleased everyone has enjoyed the story so far.

Hermione Granger sighed and massaged her temples, where she could feel the beginnings of a major headache forming. Locked away in the Department of Mysteries in the bowels of the Ministry, saw the twenty-seven year old witch becoming increasingly agitated. Three months ago, she had been recruited to do the seemingly impossible by one Kingsley Shacklebolt, prevent Lord Voldemort from ever rising. He had informed her that she was to exact any means necessary, including time alterations, to ensure that the once feared Dark Lord, never came to be. Regardless of the fact that it was well known that terrible things happened to people who meddled with time. Kingsley and the Wizengamot had determined the previous loss of lives to be far too great. Over the past ten years since the end of the war, the economy had yet to recover, Hogwarts classes were at an all time low, and nearly half of the Wizengamot had been eradicated, with most of it's previous member's dead or imprisoned.   
The Wizarding World of Britain was coming closer and closer to extinction, and that was a risk that the Ministry was unwilling to take. So Hermione had been persuaded to perform the miracle the country so desperately needed. A month of delving through the DoM's archives with a team of Unspeakables at her disposal had garnered the ritual that hadn't been used since the time of Merlin himself. The ritual that had seen Morgan Le Fay murdered at the end of Excalibur. A ritual that forced time to bend for the caster.   
So Hermione had bent the timeline, slipping through the gap that was created and altered the reality of the past. Instead of Phineas Black being cast from his family for supporting muggle rights, he married Alessandra Travers, cementing himself in the Sacred Twenty-Eight once again. Hermione had ensured that the child resulting from that marriage would be a girl using a potion she had found in the Black Family Library at Grimmauld Place. She then imparted part of her essence into the growing life force of the child, forming a bond between the two to act as an anchor while Hermione bent time around her.   
The reports she had reviewed about the ritual, stated that Merlin had been so adept at performing it, he was able to jump through pockets of time, he created with his staff. Hermione knew she was no where near powerful enough to complete such a feat, and at the moment, the most she could do was send thoughts to the Hermione of the nineteen forties. Hermione tried to send the truth's of the war to the girl in the past. Slipping into her sub-consciousness to portray the war that Wizarding Britain had fought against the creature known as Lord Voldemort. But it seemed that not even the faces of the dead, or experiencing the Cruciatus at the hands of Bellatrix LeStrange was enough to deter her. She like so many others was drawn in by the enigma that was Tom Marvolo Riddle.   
Sighing, Hermione focused her mind and energy again, intent on getting through to the alternate version of herself. The fate of Wizarding Britain depended on it.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was a worried wizard indeed. The Ministry was falling apart at the seams, still recovering from the war that was wrought by Voldemort. They had been so confident after Voldemort's death. Too confident. Too damn cocky for their own good. Everyone assumed, that after burying the dead and tending to the wounded, that life would go on in an improved manner. How foolish they had been.   
During the course of the war, many half-bloods and muggle-borns had fled from Britain, refusing to return even after Voldemort's demise. Stating that although the megalomaniac was deceased, his ideals were not. His citizens did not feel safe inside of the country, and Kingsley was unable to force them to return. Not that he would ever truly consider that option.   
And so, without the influx of Muggle-born and half-blood, the Wizarding World was nearly decimated. Pure-blood's were refusing to marry outside of their social circles, bar a few Light families. Even that was not enough, however.   
There was no one to tend to the lesser glorified jobs in the Ministry. There were fewer Aurors than ever, many witches and wizards having seen enough death and destruction to last them ten lifetimes over. Shops in Diagon Alley, and Hogsmeade now read closed permanently, windows and doors boarded up and warded.   
Their last hope had been that Harry Potter would rally the masses, and encourage citizens to rebuild their lives. However, the Boy-Who-Lived had fallen into a deep depression. Losing one of his best friends had taken a momentous toll on the young wizard. Seventeen and he had lost his parents, his godfather, his mentor, friends, classmates. He had faced Voldemort more than any other wizard, and survived. But at a cost that was too great for him to bear. The last anyone had heard, he was holed up in Grimmauld Place, drinking his way through the Potter fortune.   
Now, Kingsley had turned to Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of the age, who was also more than a little broken. It wasn't easy to see, not with the way she threw herself into her work. The way she would occasionally count under her breath when a woman laughed too loudly near her, how her hands would tremble if she were in too crowded of a space, her reflex to draw her wand on anyone who would startle her were all obvious signs that something was still rattled inside of the witch. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, she called it. Said that it would take time, but eventually the effects would subside; though they never did. At least not from what Kingsley could see.   
He had seen the scars marring her arm, along the nasty Mudblood carving, were long jagged claw marks. Self-inflicted and seemingly always red and irritated. He had noticed that when Hermione was feeling particularly insecure, her fingers would stray to the horrendous scar and scratch at it. It broke his heart. Another victim of a war that should have never been. There were too many damn victims, too much damage, and the Wizarding Community as a whole was hemorrhaging. It would take a miracle to save them, and that miracle rested on the shoulders of a broken and battered witch. Circe have mercy on them all. 

Hermione Granger frowned, her fingers straying to her left arm as she read the newly forming book in front of her. Bending time was a strange and tricky business. She could be gone for hours in the past, and only seconds in the future. Or she could have mere minutes in the past, but lose days in her own time. The amount of control it took to repeat the process was monumental, and depleted her magic each and every time. But magic was like a muscle, and she could feel it getting stronger the more she wielded it over and over again.   
Letting her eyes trace over the page before her as it formed she felt that newly strengthened magic flare in anger. Hermione Black was a stupid, stupid, stupid girl! Entering into a formal courtship with Tom Marvolo Riddle would only give him more influence and power. Influence and power he most certainly did not need.   
Letting out a scream of outrage, her magic thrashed around her, sparks teeming from her hair and fingertips. Papers swirled about the room, as glass instruments broke, tiny shards embedding themselves into her skin. No, no, no! This was all wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, damnit!   
Crashing to her knees she clawed at her left arm, thoughts pervading her mind. 'Filthy little mudblood. You're useless, worthless. Less than the dirt you sprang from!' She could clearly hear the words as they pounded into her head. Sounding eerily like the deceased Bellatrix LeStrange. Tears poured from her eyes and fell in cascading drops onto the floor below her. This wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to mend the wizarding world, not destroy it further. Staring into nothingness, she wondered where she had gone so wrong.

Harry Potter stared at the Black family Tapestry, brows furrowed in thought. It was changing. He was sure of it. There, under Phineas Nigellus Black, his youngest son's previously scorched face appeared clear as day. A small banner attached to his name read Alessandra Travers, and a thin branch connected to his. What caused Harry's befuddlement, was that the picture attached looked uncannily similar to his best friend, Hermione Granger. Oh the hair and eyes were different. But the mass of curls was the same, as were the most distinguishable facial features. To add to the mystery, the name portrayed underneath the portrait read Hermione Estrella Black, in neat cursive writing.   
Something was occurring to cause this conundrum. And Harry had the sinking feeling that his best friend was at the center of it all. Worry overtook Harry, as he placed his hand on the other Hermione's portrait. There, just under her name was a flickering banner, as if it hadn't managed to solidify yet, was the name Tom Marvolo Riddle. Eyes wide behind his glasses, he hoped desperately that he was wrong. He needed to speak with Hermione urgently. He needed to know that whatever she was doing, could be stopped or reversed. He had already faced Voldemort once, but facing him again, with the full backing of the Black Family would be inconceivable

Hermione Granger sat cross legged in the runic circle she had created. Runes for strength and protection were painted on her arms using her own blood. The same blood that linked her to the girl she was and was not in the past. It was strange, she could see so much of herself in Hermione Black, but it was obvious they were two completely different women. Black had grown up in the upper echelon of Pureblood society. Doted upon by her father, praised by her professors, and adored by her peers. She had never known war, or pain, or hunger.   
Eyes flashing with bitterness and anger, Hermione Granger was determined to see that she would. That she would see the reality that was Tom Marvolo Riddle for who he truly was. Thar behind the charismatic facade, lurked a dangerous lunatic. One so bent on living forever, he would use anyone and anything to get his way.   
Invocating the spell, she felt her mind snap through time, to find it's way to her anchor. To Hermione Black. 

It was dark, as it usually was when she entered the other girl's mind. A mind she had traversed so often, she could easily find her way around. Moving through the blanket like fog, she made her way to the girl's most recent memories. Frowning she watched as the handsome Tom swayed Black with an easy charm. With promises of exploring the ancient magics of the world. Of allowing her to study and earn prestige amongst some of the greatest minds of the world. Hermione watched, disgusted, as Tom placed a diamond encrusted bracelet on Black's wrist. She had seen enough.   
Moving again, she found herself at the forefront of the girl's mind. Black was attending yet another society party, and bitterly, Hermione wondered if that was all that mattered to Purebloods. Tom stood next to her and Hermione threw her revulsion at the girl. She could feel the other girl's confusion at the sudden onslaught of emotion and decided to push harder. Tom Riddle and Hermione Black could not come to be.  
"Has he told you that while you'll be travelling the world, he's already created a Horcrux?" Hermione asked.   
She smirked at the feel of shock that travelled through Black. Of course she would know about the most vile form of magic. There were several books on the subject in the Black Family Library, a fact Hermione had discovered when pursuing the records in her own time. Of course after the first demise of Voldemort they had been confiscated and destroyed.   
"He'll abandon you. He has many greater plans, and a wife will only hinder them. If you're lucky, that's all he'll do."   
Hermione let the whisper echo in the girl's head, before retreating. Too much time spent in the other time, would risk her magical core failing. If that were to happen, Hermione would be stuck in the girl's mind, unable to escape. Only allowed to push thoughts through. Hoping that her warning would be enough to call off the courtship, hoping that it would be enough to stop Tom Riddle. 

Returning to herself, Hermione let out a choked gasp. Waving her wand to cast a quick tempus, she cursed. She had only been in the girl's mind for a half hour at most, but she had lost three in her own time. She was letting her emotions get in the way. Becoming unfocused during her casting. It was dangerous and foolish. She knew better. Fingers traced old scars as she let her mind wander. It was getting easier, but she still had setbacks. Deciding to check the book, she prayed that something had changed. That Hermione Black, would see sense and reveal the truth she had left for her.   
Before she could so much as glance at it though, she was interrupted by a dishevelled Harry Potter falling into her office.   
The man's perpetually untidy hair looked even more messy, his glasses were skewed on his face, and his robes smelt heavily of Firewhiskey. He pointed an accusing finger at her, "What did you do!"   
His words were slurred by anger and alcohol, and Hermione's heart sank. Something was still wrong. Hermione Black had obviously ignored her warnings. Stupid stubborn girl.   
"Harry, I can explain."   
"Explain!" He exploded, "Explain why I'm seeing you on the Black Family Tapestry, married to Tom bleeding Riddle!" Harry's fist slammed into the wall behind him.   
Hermione stood back, lips trembling, eyes stinging as she stared at the enraged face of her best friend. Her only friend. Fingers clutched into her left arm and she relished in the pain. It gave her something to cling to. Something to keep her sanity.   
"Please, Harry, please don't be angry with me. I'm trying to fix it." She pleaded, voice shaking.  
Harry's emerald eyes glowered at her, "Fix. What?" His voice was low and dangerous. A tone she hadn't heard since they shared a tent together so many years ago, with a Horcrux hanging round their necks.   
"Everything." She whispered. "Absolutely everything, Harry."  
Harry eyed her for a moment, seeing the truth in her words. Seeing the hope she had that she would be able to reverse what had happened. That they could have everyone they loved back. It was a false hope. One he refused to believe in. He too once thought he could save everyone, that they would come out whole and intact, surrounded by those they loved. He was so damned naive, and he wouldn't allow Hermione to be.   
"There's nothing to fix, Hermione. So whatever you've done. Whatever you're doing. Stop it. Reverse it, before it causes a worse outcome, than what we face now." With that Harry turned from her office, determined to wash away the heartbroken face of his best friend from his mind with copious amounts of firewhiskey. 

Hermione felt shattered, but she was determined. She could fix it. She knew she could. She began to push herself harder, and further. Obviously there would be no changing of Black's course, so Hermione was going to change it herself. She knew what she was going to attempt would be dangerous. It could lead to her own death, especially if she failed in her plans. But she couldn't allow those doubts. She couldn't think for a moment that she would not succeed in her mission. To do so meant a certain death.   
So instead, she focused on gaining control of the other girl's body. So far, she was only capable of doing so when she was asleep. and only for mere seconds before magical exhaustion began to overwhelm her. But she was getting stronger every time. She wouldn't need to take over the girl's body for long. Just long enough to drive a knife through Voldemort's heart. Because regardless of the pretty face that he showed the world, Tom Riddle was Voldemort. 

Kingsley stared at the face of the young man before him. Harry Potter looked much older than his twenty seven years. Kingsley supposed fighting a dark wizard for most of your life would cause that, though. The wizard's features were drawn and haggard, cheeks gaunt from weeks of poor diet, the smell of firewhiskey permeated the air around him. It was a sad sight to see the once determined young man looking so broken. But underneath that brokenness was a steely resolve. It glinted in the young wizard's emerald eyes.   
"How may I be of service to you, Harry?" Kingsley asked conversationally. After all it was rare for Harry to leave Grimmauld Place, so it stood to reason that he was here to make a request of some sort.  
"Cut the dragonshite Kingsley! I want you to cancel whatever project you have Hermione working on." Harry spat, fists clenched together as he stared at the older wizard.   
Kingsley took a moment to observe the wizard before him, "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about-"  
"Like Hell you don't!" Harry cut him off, "Whatever magic Hermione is doing in the past is working. The Black Family Tapestry is changing. And on it, it shows one Hermione Estrella Black married to Tom Marvolo Riddle." Harry was screaming by the time he finished.  
Kingsley was immensely thankful for the privacy wards erected around his office. Information such as this could not get out to the general public, though it did leave him with the problem of other's seeing the timeline changing.   
"Are you certain? It states that they are married?" Kingsley asked eagerly. Marriage between a Black daughter and Riddle could be problematic, but along the same vein, if Voldemort grew to care for the witch, she could be used against him. While Kingsley would never condone such things under normal circumstances, these were anything but ordinary.   
Harry sighed, running his hand across the back of his neck, "It's not set in stone yet. It flickers on the tapestry, but it's definitely there. Just what the bloody hell is going on Kingsley?"  
Kingsley placed his hands atop his bald head and reclined back into his chair. There were merits to telling Harry, but for the past ten years the wizard had lived in the bottom of a bottle. Only surfacing when absolutely necessary. It had left him open to the speculation that perhaps, there was more to the relationship between him and the youngest Weasley boy than met the eye. Of course it was only speculation made in the darkened shadows of private studies, over glasses of firewhiskey and expensive cigars.   
"What gets said in here, never leaves this room, understood? Whether Hermione succeeds or fails at her task, it never happened. The Ministry never had any part of it." Kingsley finally conceded.   
Herry's brows shot up at that, "And Hermione agreed to that? To be your- your scapegoat! As if she hasn't sacrificed enough? As if we haven't all sacrificed enough! Lost enough?"   
"She knew what she was agreeing to-"   
"Like hell she did! Like hell you knew what you were asking of her. She's reliving her torture! I saw it in her eyes when I confronted her today. I saw the girl I knew breaking apart with her fingers digging into that goddamned scar." He took a moment to lower his voice, recognizing for all the friendly terms they were on, he was still speaking to the Minister of Magic. "There is a girl, born in nine-teen twenty-six wearing my best friend's face. And that girl is apparently going to marry one of the darkest wizards to ever walk the face of the Earth. So please, Kingsley, don't patronize me about this."   
Kingsley took a deep breath, and locked eyes with Harry. Seeing the pleading in the other wizard's eyes, he felt his heart clench. He was right, he knew. Harry, Hermione and the late Ron had suffered too much, and yet here he was asking the remains of the Golden Trio to suffer more. He felt as if he'd swallowed an anvil. He knew deep in his soul that he didn't have the right to ask them of this, no one did, but he couldn't see another way.   
He had searched. Oh, how he had searched for any possible solution. He had even considered a Marriage Law, only to be brutally shut down by the remaining Wizengamot. They had claimed that a Marriage Law would spark a rebellion in the streets, seeing the Pureblood families leaving the British Isles to marry elsewhere. As well as raise any potential children in whichever country they settled in. Seeing that the majority of Wizarding currency was in the hands of said Purebloods, and Kingsley's hands were tied.   
"Hermione is working with a team of Unspeakables. I truly have no idea just what the project entails, only that Hermione has been granted every permission available to her, to complete this task. That being said, there are rumours of a ritual she uses to attain her goals." Kingsley paused, gaging the reaction of the wizard before him. The calm demeanor gave him enough courage to continue.   
"A ritual that has not been used since the time of Merlin himself."  
Harry felt his hands ball into fists tightly, and jaw clench. His voice sounded like someone else to him as he spoke his only warning, "If she fails in this, if she dies from this, be warned Minister, I will come for you. Just before I throw myself off of the Tower of London." With those parting words, he left the Minister of Magic wondering not for the first time if he was making the correct decision. 

 

Hermione cursed as she fell back into her own body. She was learning how to spend more time in Hermione Black's consciousness, taking over the other girl's body could be accomplished so long she was asleep. The moment she awoke though, Hermione was thrown back into her own body. It was beyond frustrating, especially since she could get no farther than the bottom of the stairs before Black would awaken. How could she possibly destroy Voldemort's Horcruxes, if she couldn't even leave the girl's house?   
More than that, Hermione couldn't even discover what was causing the girl to wake up. She couldn't access the Wards, because Black was not keyed in to control them. But it never failed that the moment her foot touched the bottom landing of the stairs, Black would jolt awake, sending her back to her own self.   
Growling in frustration, she made her way to her desk, summoning a bowl and cloth to her once she was seated. Carefully wiping away the bloody runes painted on her skin, she considered the possibility of having them permanently tattooed onto her skin. Nothing in the original ritual stated it would have adverse effects, however she would need to find a discreet artist to perform the task. It was rather frowned upon to get tattoos in the Wizarding world's polite society, even more so to have runes that would boost one's power etched onto them.   
But it would certainly be worth the risks. After all, she needed all the power she could get to fulfill the task set out before her. Decision made, she sent a memo to Kingsley, asking for his advice in discovering a talented and discreet artist. 

It had taken a week for Kingsley to find a reputable tattoo artist who could be bribed into silence. A few thousand Galleons, and an Unbreakable Vow later Hermione was sitting in a chair while a slender woman set up her workstation. Dark brown hair was pulled high into a ponytail atop her head, and tattoo's of various creatures littered the woman's arms, and chest. Turning to face the Golden girl, she held out her hand with a friendly smile.   
"My name is Aine, and I'll be the one inking you today."   
Hermione shook Aine's hand carefully, finger's trembling as she finally let the reality of what she was about to do set in. "Hermione." She replied needlessly.   
"Now I know neither of us can talk about why you're getting these particular rune sequences tattooed today, but if you have any questions for me, now's the time to ask them." Aine told her, snapping gloves on and sitting on her own stool.   
"Only one. Why did you agree to this?"   
Aine's laugh sounded like tinkling glass as she answered, "Why I thought that would be obvious. For the money of course. Why you choose to get dangerous runes tattooed on you is your own business, especially when the Minister of Magic himself approaches you with the task."   
With that settled, she set to the task of applying the runes into Hermione's skin. Hermione watched the process transfixed, and amazed that it hardly hurt at all, as Aine moved her wand in intricate motions above Hermione's arms ink flowed from it settling into her skin effortlessly. Once the ink had settled into her skin, Hermione could feel the tingles of power thrumming through her veins. Smiling, she couldn't help but think that this would be advantageous to her project. 

It was dark, but not because she was trapped in Black's subconscious. The room itself was dark, the ornate oil lamps doused by the House Elves. Sitting up slowly to gain her equilibrium, Hermione felt a smile creep onto the other girl's face. It was strange, being in another person's body. She could see Black was asleep and dreaming. A subtle probe showed that it was none other that Tom Riddle who occupied the girl's dreams. Scoffing at Black's naivety, she slowly withdrew.   
Deciding that attempting to venture downstairs was a waste of valuable time, she made her way instead to the Black Family Library. While she intended to kill Riddle with muggle means, as to prevent any treatment, she wasn't ignorant enough not to plan for contingencies. And the Black Family Library was full of all sorts of nasty contingency spells and potions.   
Settling in, she pursued the most arcane and lethal books, hoping that somewhere inside resided a spell that would bring an end to Tom Marvolo Riddle before he ever got the chance to become known across Britain as the Dark Lord Voldemort.   
What felt like hours later, Hermione was startled out of her research by the feeling of Black surfacing from slumber. Frowning in annoyance, she used the last of her control to slam the book shut and vanish it back to it's place on the shelf. Allowing herself slip from the girl's mind and back into her own body, she felt a brief bout of hope. Opening her eyes, she glanced at the clock she had set up for these purposes, and was pleased to see she had only lost minutes, not days or hours. It appeared that her new runes were becoming very useful indeed. With the control they allowed her over the ritual, she would be able to have Tom Riddle dead on his wedding night. Letting out a frenzied laugh, she couldn't help but feel overjoyed at the thought that the reign of terror that Voldemort wrought, would never come to be.


	3. A Marriage Most Convenient

Tom stood passively, studying Hermione Black as she spoke to her father. This was the first time he had seen her since dangling the promise of a wondrous life exploring the world. If things progressed as he hoped, he would soon be approached by Phineas. At that point litigators would become involved, to hammer out an airtight betrothal contract that would suit both parties. Often times it could take up to an entire year to negotiate between families. Tom planned for it to take a much shorter duration of time.  
He needed the Black Family name and influence to get to where he wanted to be. It would free him from working at that god-awful Borgin and Burkes, as well as open him up to all sorts of opportunities. He was sure he could get Hermione to concede to any of his more peculiar wishes. After all, the girl was chomping at the bit to escape from the stuffy etiquette of Wizarding Britain. She was so eager to prove herself to everyone, to prove that she could survive in a man's world. Not just the sheltered one her father had created for her.  
Tom swallowed a bit of bile at that thought. The girl had everything he could have ever wanted, and she treated it as if it were a cage. What were a few formal balls and dinners when compared to insurmountable wealth? What were the restrictions of Pureblood society, when your family name could get you anything you could possibly wish for? Hermione Black may have been beautiful and intelligent, but she was also spoiled and naïve.  
Tom fully intended to take advantage of these flaws of her. He had swayed far more suspicious people than her.  
Smirking to himself, he brought his glass to his lips, watching the interaction intently.  
Hermione pouted at her Father, arms crossed petulantly, foot tapping in irritation. The man's broad smile was not improving her impatience in the slightest either. Sighing loudly, she batted her eyelashes in his direction, widening her eyes just slightly. "Father you promised!" she whined, uncaring if the behavior was beneath her.  
"So I did," Phineas chortled, "And I've yet to break a promise to you. Tell me darling, are you truly sure about this?" He leaned down slightly to meet her eyes, searching for any hint of indecision.  
Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed, "Of course I am Father. I wouldn't have agreed to it otherwise. You should know me better than that."  
Phineas let out a sigh of his own and placed a gentle kiss on his beloved daughter's forehead. He always knew this day would come, when he would have to navigate a good marriage for her, however with her stubbornness he was hoping for a few more years before needing to do so. Tom Riddle had thrown a wrench into that plan, with his promises of exploration and studying of ancient magic. And his precious darling daughter, so eager to explore was jumping in feet first. It was enough to make any father worry.  
But added to the calculating looks Tom Riddle sent her, Phineas wanted to deny her this. He wanted to, but he wouldn't. He could never deny his precious girl anything, even that ridiculously large, black Destrier she would ride through the woods and plains of their land. He felt like marrying her off to the young wizard, was much like handing her the reigns to that enormous beast. As if expecting her to tame a beast so powerful, a single blow from it's hooves would kill her, was as easy as coaxing a butterfly to land on her fingers. What seemed impossible, and yet she had done.  
Nodding and placing one last gentle kiss to Hermione's forehead, he released her and strode his way across the room to Tom Riddle. Who, by all accounts, was set to be his future son-in-law.  
.  
Tom hid his smug smile in the rim of his glass, no need for his future father-in-law to draw hasty conclusions and retract his approval of the match. Holding out his hand for the older man to shake, he let a gleaming smile cross his face. Allowing his natural charm to flow through him freely, he spoke, "Good evening Mr. Black."  The smile soon fell from his face under the older man's glare.  
"A moment, if you will, Mr. Riddle." Phineas commanded, striding through the doors of the ballroom without waiting to see if Tom would follow him. Gritting his teeth in agitation, Tom dutifully trailed behind the older man. Glaring at the back of Phineas' head, he wondered if the wizard was planning on denying his blessing for the betrothal. If so, Tom might just have to practice his obviation charms to ensure he got what he wanted. A lovely little wife, and all the influence and gold that came with her family.  
Phineas led Tom to a small study on the main floor, closing the door he proceeded to cast silencing charms as well as a powerful locking spell. Sauntering behind the large ornate desk, he opened one of the drawers and poured himself a drink, before leveling his gaze on Tom.  
"I'll be honest with you Tom, I don't like you. Well, I don't suppose that's true." He took a hefty swallow and sighed, "I don't like the way you look at my daughter. I don't like the fact that you've come in promising her things I'm not sure you can fulfill."  
Tom felt his fists clench in his lap, "Sir?" he ground out between teeth that were clenched even tighter than his fists. Phineas met Tom's eyes over the expanse of space between him. A few feet of space, made to feel like a few inches with that stare. Tom threw up his occlumency shields, certain that the Wizard before him was able to see into his very soul. Or what was left of it.  
"I'm no fool Tom, just how are you expecting to pay for the travels my daughter has planned? With the Black Family gold?" Phineas hmphed, "Doubtful. And even if you do have other means to pay, who says that what you are planning to research will have any merit. Tell me, what exactly are your plans for a future with my daughter? Am I to assume you plan to gallivant around the globe with her, until she's too old to bear your children? Or if perhaps, she does become with child do you expect to drag her and it around with you? Or do you expect her to wait at home like a good little wife while you explore the world after you've impregnated her?" Phineas boomed, downing the last of his drink and reaching to pour another. Sending a hate filled look at the wizard before him, he gulped down half of his drink.  
Tom stared defiantly at the older wizard. How dare he question him! He was going to be the next Dark Lord, and everyone would cower before him. He was going to live forever, and he had chosen this wizard's daughter as his bride. And this pretentious pureblood waste, had the audacity to question him and his means! It was enough to send Tom into a blind rage, but he knew better than that. This was not the orphanage, where he could get his way using his fists, and intimidation. Nor was it Hogwarts where his charm could easily blind others to his motives. This was simply a wizard, fearing for his daughter's well being and future, and in order to get his way, he'd need to appeal to that sense of fatherly love.  
"Mr. Black, I assure you I have only the best intentions towards your daughter. As for the travelling expenses I have sponsors," A half truth. He did have sponsors, but he couldn't truly bring himself to care for Hermione. She was a means to an end. An attractive one, yes, but he could live without her. He could succeed without her if need be. Unclenching his fists, he forced himself to relax.  
Phineas let out a snort, "As charming as you may be, Mr. Riddle, I am old, not stupid. I know you intend to enter this marriage for what you can gain from it. Luckily for you, my daughter is doing the same thing." Phineas frowned, " I will allow this marriage to occur, so long as my daughter wants it. In return, you will ensure she is happy. That means allowing her to explore the world to her heart's content, and not saddling her with children before she is ready. In return, you will have the backing of the Black Family, and I will pay for your travels. There will be no talk of the Malfoys paying for my daughter."  
Tom felt the tension leave his body completely. This was more than he had hoped for. So his future father in law didn't like him, it mattered not as long as he got his hands on the Black fortune.  
Tom smiled at Phineas, "Then I believe we have an accord Mr. Black."  
Tom sighed at his loyalist follower, Evan Rosier. The man was smart, crafty, and one of the Pureblood elite but his constant questioning of Tom's motives was becoming annoying. He knew that his betrothal announcement would come as a shock to his followers, but he had assumed that they knew better than to question him. Perhaps he had neglected them in his quest to ensure his future marriage.  
"Rosier, you will do well to remember who is in charge here. I asked for you to find me a solicitor, not question my motives." Tom snapped in annoyance.  
Rosier bowed his head in remittance, carefully erecting his occlumency shields as to not give away his thoughts. He was regretting not choosing to engage in a betrothal contract with the young Miss Black. He had planned to after he had settled more firmly into his quidditch career. Chancing a glance at his Lord, he knew that those plans were gone with the dust now.  
"I shall find you the best solicitor available, my Lord." Evan sighed, standing to leave the room.  
Tom spoke without looking up, "And Evan, just because I may not care for my future wife, that does not mean that she is not indeed mine."  
Evan swallowed the lump in his throat, the message clear. Hermione Black, soon to be Riddle, was off limits.  
Hermione stood in the stables, brushing her large warhorse down. She could certainly have one of the servants do so, but it was something she prefered to do herself. Smiling she patted the creature's hind quarters, and reached in her pocket for a sugar cube.  
"That's a good boy, Bellinor." She murmured to the horse as he gently took the sugar cube from her palm. His soft lips tickling her hand and making her giggle.  
"You always did love that horse. Do you plan to take him with you, after you marry?" Called a voice from the doorway.  
Turning her head slightly she smiled at her younger cousin. Funny that he was so tall for one three years younger than her, and already looking as if he were a bear. Broad shoulders, and torso, leading to narrow hips. Dark black hair fell in loose waves ending just below his ears and just slightly covering his slate gray eyes.  
Letting out a remorseful sigh, she returned to brushing Bellinor, "I don't think that will be possible, Orion. I was thinking of leaving him hear, but I fear he'll get lonely."  
Orion let out a derisive snort, "Husband to be not going to let you take him with you?" His voice was sharp with bitterness, angry at the unfairness of their situation. Even angrier that it would be Tom bloody Riddle to marry his beautiful cousin, and not himself.  
Hermione sent him a sharp glare and retort, "No. We'll be traveling, for many years I suspect, and it would be unfair to Bellinor to make him travel with us. Much too stressful."  
Orion glared right back, "So you're just going to abandon him then?" Abandon me? It hung in the silence between them, and for a moment he wished he could take the words back before he's ever spoken them. But words are things that once heard, can never be unheard. The way Hermione's face crumpled, made a stabbing pain tear through his heart. He never wanted to hurt her.  
Moving swiftly, he gathered her in his arms, pulling her close to his chest and soothing her. It was traditionally improper for Purebloods to show such emotion, but neither of them cared much for tradition.  
"You don't have to marry him, you know? You have other options. You wouldn't have to leave." Orion whispered, afraid that speaking the words would reveal much more than he planned.  
Hermione let out a sniffle, "I really don't Ri. I can't keep being a disappointment to mother. Eventually she would wear Father down and he would arrange a marriage for me. At least this way, i have some choice in the matter. " She pulled away from him and stroked a hand down Bellinor's flank.  
Orion watched her with sad eyes, his cousin deserved so much better than this. Before he could stop them, the words poured out of his mouth, "Marry me instead! We'll run away together, and once I'm of age, we'll get married. Then we can be together, you and me, please Hermione!"  
The sharp sting on his face made him stumble back in shock. He felt his eyes begin to water with hurt, and rejection.  
"Ri, I-I I'm sorry. But surely you know to suggest such a thing is out of bounds! You're betrothed to Walburga, and I won't hurt and shame her by running off with you! Not to mention we would be cast out of the family!" Her hands waved in the air as she got more heated in her argument, "Cast out of it's protection, and left penniless. We would have to leave Britain for causing such a scandal! It can never happen. And I never want to hear you speak of it again!"  
Orion nodded solemnly, "That will not be a problem, Cousin." He spat the words at her, before turning on his heel and storming away with as much dignity as he could muster. He had been foolish to think that Hermione would want to be with him as well. Naïve to think that saying the words aloud would somehow make her want to marry him. His heart was shattered, but he knew he still loved her with all of the broken shards.  
Hermione clung to Bellinor's neck and let her tears flow into his mane. When had things become so complicated in her life? Sobbing, she managed to tack up Bellinor, and mount his back. Hair whipping in the wind, she steered him towards the dense woods on the property, planning to out ride the thoughts plaguing her mind.

It had taken a mere three months for the betrothal agreement between she and Tom to be settled. During that time she and Tom had spent a great deal of time together under the watchful eye of her cousin Lucretia. Planning where they would go and what they would see. The planned to tour all of the Continents, from Asia to Antarctica. Then they planned to discover the Americas, and Africa. Before making their way to Australia.  
Hermione felt the happiest she had ever been, with the exception the Orion wasn't speaking to her. She wished things could go back to the way they were before, but it didn't seem to be likely. It hurt to know he was still angry with her, but she saw of no way to reconcile with him. Not when he wanted such different things than she.  
Sighing she pushed those thoughts from her mind and focused instead on happier ones. These past three months with Tom had been wonderful. He encouraged her interest in potions, and transfiguration. Would debate magical theory with her, and discuss the bias that seemed prevalent that all Dark Magic was inherently evil. They talked about the defeat of Grindelwald, and the changes that were overcoming the world since his fall.  
They seemed to talk about everything except themselves. She knew his theories on magic, but not his favorite color. She knew which books he considered to be most factual, but not which ones he read for relaxation. She knew he preferred to seem cold to the outside world, but she wasn't quite sure if that coldness would ever thaw towards anyone. Not even her.  
Smiling slightly, she thought it was no matter. She would get to live out her dream of exploring the world, and because of one of the stipulations, she wouldn't need to bear him an heir until all of their exploration was done and they mutually agreed to do so. There were several other stipulations as well, such as that neither could harm one another using magic or muggle means. That if at any time either of them were unfaithful, the penalty would be having the guilty party's magic suppressed until the affronted party decided to release the binding. Several clauses were those that the Black Family had used for centuries.  
Her father had even chosen the wedding bands. Cursed by his Grandfather to never be worn by any except those bound to them. For any other person to attempt to wear them, would result in a painful death. Hermione personally thought it was unneeded, but agreed to her Father's wishes. She knew he was stressed about her upcoming marriage, and had even asked her at least once a day if she was sure about the marriage.  
Her mother on the other hand, had no such qualms. She had taken over the wedding planning with fervor, and rather than arguing with her, Hermione indulged her. A marriage that would normally take a year to plan would be finalized in the next three months. The only thing theft to do was ensure the dress fit and pick the cake and food. The only things Hermione had truly been interested in.  She had left all the rest to her Mother and Tom. Laughing to herself, she returned to the book she had abandoned about the properties of the Phoenix.

`Three months had passed yet again, and found Hermione standing in a room with her cousins Lucretia and Walburga, their mother's having already made their way to the reception area. A strange part of Hermione's wedding. That the only people to witness it would be her parents, the minister, and Evan Rosier, who would stand as Tom's Best Man. An olden tradition to prevent anyone from interrupting the ritual. And a ritual it was. Performed on her family property, where one of the few Ley Lines ran throughout Britain. In fact the ritual would be performed directly on the Ley Line, and the circle had been prepared by her Mother and Father. Their vows had been chosen. Which had been a fight in and of itself.  
Tom had found traditional Celtic Vows, which Hermione had no issue with. The issue had arisen when Tom neglected to realize there were two parts of the vows. Hermione had put her foot down, determined that they would have both parts of the vows, or there would be no marriage at all. Tom had finally conceded, albeit grumpily, to have both parts of the vows in the ceremony. Hermione had smirked at the point of victory, content that she had once again gotten her way.  
Now she stood in a heavy floor length Acromantula Silk dress, that had been dyed an interesting gold color that seemed to change to shades of deep emerald green when the light hit it just right. Traditional Celtic knots were embroidered along the front of the dress, and a silver cape draped over her shoulders. Hand spun silk elegantly crocheted to drape the ground as she walked. Her feet were bare, except for the delicate platinum chain that circled her middle toe, and then led to wrap around her ankle. Dangling around her ankle was a mix of gemstones; turquoise, moonstone, agate, and citrine to name a few. Her mother and aunts doing.  
Walburga approached Hermione with a tearful smile, "You look beautiful cousin. Evan and mother asked me to present you with this on behalf of the Rosier family." And then she carefully unwrapped a golden tiara, decorated with carved filigree leaves.  
“It’s beautiful, Cousin. Send my appreciation along. Will you put it on me?” Hermione asked with tear filled eyes. She was getting everything she had ever wanted, and couldn’t be happier. And best of all, there were no meddlesome thoughts about the supposed Lord Voldemort. She was pleased to be able to put it aside as a silly notion caused by the Black Madness. Tom was unfailingly charming, kind, and intelligent. Not some monster from a children’s storybook.   
Walburga had finished arranging the tiara just so, and stepped back, clasping her hands in front of her chest. “Oh, you look just like a princess! And you’re about to marry a handsome prince!”   
Hermione faced herself in the mirror once more, and found herself agreeing. Except, she felt more like a Princess about to marry a King. 

 

Walking into the clearing, Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat. There at a stone and wooden altar stood Tom, the ministry official behind him. Her eyes took in the exquisite robes he was wearing, a green so dark it appeared black, interwoven with golden thread covered him from neck to ankle. A cape similar to her own was draped across his shoulder’s in the darkest black, and he too stood barefoot. She could hardly focus on anything else, he was simply too handsome for words. She was once again struck by the thought of a princess and a king, and how after this, she would be his Queen.   
Her Father approached her, grasping her hand in his, he led her to Tom. Standing before him she felt a smile cross her face. Her father carefully unclasped the cape from around her shoulder’s, before handing it off to her mother. Tom then handed Phineas his own cape, which was draped across her shoulder’s in it’s place. Finally, her father placed her hand in Tom’s with a gentle kiss to her cheek before stepping to stand beside her mother. Tom squeezed her hand carefully, a gesture that she returned.   
The ministry official nodded approvingly, and waved his wand in an intricate circle, looping around them, and opening their magical cores to being bound. Once they were opened both let out a gasp as the Ley Line they stood on rushed through them unencumbered. It was an invigorating feeling, as if she had all the energy in the world.   
“The couple has chosen their own vows. Ones that are to be said in unison. If you will.” The official gestured between them, and Hermione turned to face Tom more fully, grasping his other hand as well. As one they began to speak and the magic flowed more fiercely between them with every word.

“You cannot Possess me for I belong to myself, but while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give.   
You cannot command me, for I am a free person, but I shall serve you in those ways you require, and the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand.   
I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night, and the eyes into which I smile in the morning.   
I pledge to you the first bite from my meat, and the first drink from my cup.  
I pledge to you my living and dying, equally in your care, and tell no strangers our grievances.   
This is my wedding vow to you.   
This is a Marriage of Equals.  
And Beyond this, through this life, and into the next.”

As the final word was spoken, a bright light surrounded their clasped hands, before moving up their arms, across their heads and down their bodies. By the time the glow had receded, magic was still thrumming through the air. Hermione smirked at Tom victoriously, she knew adding the second part to the vows would make the bond stronger. Already she could feel how their magic had meshed, how she knew she would never be able to bring him harm. He was it for her now, and not even death would be able to separate them.   
Tom for his part sent back an enigmatic grin, full of devilish promises for his new wife. He knew she thought she would continue to have the upper hand in their marriage, and for now, Tom was content to let her believe as such. But once they were farther away from Britain, he had plans for his little wife. Plans to bring her to heel. She would learn that there was no one equal to him, not even herself.   
Turning to Evan, he took the ring the young wizard was holding out for him, before turning once again to Hermione and placing it on her finger. It was a dazzling ring, a large raw diamond sat as the center stone, with two smaller raw diamonds on either side of of it. Set in rose gold, with a smaller band encircled with raw diamonds to accompany it.   
In turn she placed a single ring on his finger, set in solid gold, with several black diamonds surrounding the band. In between each diamond was a filigree design. Hiding his surprise at her father’s choice, he waited for the cue from the ministry official. Once the words were spoken, he leaned forward, grasping her face gently, and placing an easy kiss on her lips. And suddenly his marriage to Hermione Black was officially sealed. 

The reception had been boring if he were being quite honest, so much like the dozens of parties he had been to. He had barely paid it any mind, but soon enough he and his new bride were being swept away by portkey to their first destination. Paris, France was one of the most romantic cities in the world, and while Tom didn’t care much for romance, he thought it wise to keep his bride happy for the time being.   
Once in their suite, Hermione had excused herself to the bath to freshen up. Tom had sat on the bed, thankful that he was without shoes, and began the task of undoing the many buttons of his robes. He had chosen them for the sole purpose of appearing more regal. More like a Black. As he was in the process of removing the outer robe, Hermione nervously stepped through the door. For a moment, he was struck by her innocence. He wanted to possess it, to possess her more thoroughly than the bonds of marriage. Standing, he crossed the room to her, taking her lips in a gentle kiss. He was content with being gentle for the time being, knowing that he had all the time in the world to corrupt his new wife.   
But something changed as he took her to bed. While he was able to start out gentle, once he had fully penetrated her, it was as if a dam had broke. He lost control, unable to help himself he took her over and over, becoming rougher each time. He knew he was most likely frightening her, but couldn’t bring himself to care. Some deep primal urge was calling to him, demanding that he assert his authority over her. Demanding her full compliance, and he was unwilling to stop.   
He left bruises along her thighs, hips and chest in the shape of his fingerprints. Imprints of his teeth littered her neck, like an odd macabre necklace. Her hair was a tangled mess from where his hands had wound it around his fingers while he pulled it harshly. He was sure her bum was bruised as well, from the heavy slaps and smacks he had imparted upon it. He knew that somewhere deep inside he should be feeling remorse, but he didn’t. He only felt a sense of pride that now his wife had a better understanding of her place. Which was below him, in any way he chose. Smirking to himself he drifted off to sleep, ignoring her quiet sobs as she curled in on herself on her side of the bed.


End file.
